Choice
by Skiefyer
Summary: "There is always a choice," the man said calmly, "it cannot be taken away."  "If there was ever a choice, it was taken away from me."   Erik meets a strangely familiar man, who brings him back to his X-men first class days. Erik/Charles
1. Prologue

"Care for a game?" The old man looked up into a pair of bright blue eyes and flinched, lax hands dropping the black chess piece he'd been holding.

_Charles?_

But there was no response…of course, it couldn't be him. Charles was dead.

"I care for nothing much these days," he sighed wearily, but gestured for the young man to sit down nonetheless.

"Is something the matter?" the young man surveyed him curiously, those eyes so painfully like _his, _that Erik was forced to look away.

"I would think that obvious." His natural defence system kicked in, "I'm old and weary, but none of that is your concern."

"I thought it only polite to ask," the young man lent his elbows on the small table and fixed Erik with a gaze so intense it felt as if he was trying not simply to read his mind, but to become part of it. He couldn't help but watch for the tell-tale touching of the temple, disappointment acute when the man simply stared at him awaiting a response. He turned his gaze to the man's face, finally focusing on it, and realised he looked _nothing _like Charles. He was short, and had those startling blue eyes, but that was where the similarities ended.

"You thought wrong," he turned his attention back to the chessboard, rescuing the piece he'd dropped earlier, "Black or White?"

"White," the man said, something knowing in his eyes, "Tell me, why is it you always play black?"

"I believe it was _you_ who selected white, it logically follows that I should play black." Erik pointed out, a little disturbed that this stranger had picked up on a habit he'd had since…since the first time he'd played chess with Charles. The set up – Erik black, Charles white – had just seemed right, they had always been opposites and it was no secret Erik had the darker past, was capable of darker things. _It was prophetic_, he mused _eventually we did end up on opposite sides_.

"I watched your last match; you were black then, as well." The man idly moved a pawn, seeming to put little thought into the action.

"It would seem I have acquired a stalker." Erik said mildly as he made his move, freeing a bishop for later action.

"I wouldn't call it stalking, per se." The younger man grinned as he again moved without apparent consideration.

Erik raised an eyebrow, "well, then did it not occur to you that my previous opponent may also have preferred white?"

"A possibility," the man admitted, "however one that does not disprove my previous hypothesis."

"So this match is purely a farce for you to pry into my affairs?" Erik captured a knight, wondering how long this match would last when his opponent seemed more interested in the conversation than the game.

"Perhaps," he smiled disarmingly, "I'm interested, you're interesting; where's the harm?"

"What is it that you find so interesting? I'm just an old man playing chess." He captured a bishop, moving his own into its place.

"If that is what you believe..." The man looked up, his eyes boring into Erik's own, "you are so much more than you know."

"Oh I've heard that before," he chuckled wistfully, again struck by how much this man reminded him of Charles in everything bar his looks "…from an old friend of mine."

"It must be true, then." The man captured his first piece; an errant knight Erik planned to sacrifice as a diversion.

"No. I am what I am, there's nothing more to it than that." He manoeuvred a pawn into position.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"You idealists are all the same." Erik sighed; the world was impossibly full of them despite the fact that there was nothing to substantiate their claims. "You think you can see the good in everyone, and you search and search for it, but it never crosses your naïve minds that some people just don't have it in them." He shook his head, they never change. Charles was an idealist, look what the world had done to him.

"The world is black and white," he continued, "and at some point everyone must realise which side they are on. We cannot change who we are - no matter how hard we try."

"So you've answered my question after all." The man, surprisingly, didn't argue with him.

Erik raised an eyebrow as he moved his castle.

"You believe the world to be black and white?" The young man haphazardly moved a random piece, barely even glancing at the board, "You have chosen your side then, have you not?"

"I didn't choose" he said bitterly, "circumstances chose for me."

"I digress. One can choose their colour in chess, can they not? You made your choice, and now, to escape it, you believe there was none to begin with." There was no scorn in his words, but Erik bristled just the same.

"If there was ever a choice, it was taken away from me." He set the final piece in place, his strategy complete.

"There is always a choice," the man said calmly, "it cannot be taken away."

"You know not what you speak of." He felt his anger growing, what did this man know that he could judge him?

"I should like to." The earnest expression threw Erik, momentarily disarming him and he felt his anger dissipate.

"My past is not something I'm going to tell a perfect stranger."

"What if I win the match?" the man proposed, completely serious despite the ridiculousness, Erik thought, of the proposition.

"Impossible, I haven't lost since…a very long time." He sighed, all thoughts led to Charles. He'd been the only one to consistently beat Erik at chess in fact, he couldn't recall a time he'd ever actually won. The other man had always been one step ahead of him, and if he hadn't known Charles to be so damn scrupulous he'd have accused him of cheating.

"Then you've nothing to lose."

"And if I should win?"

"Then I'll quit bothering you and you'll never hear from me again." The man promised, a tiny smirk present on his face.

"I suppose you'll want to restart," Erik supposed he might as well accept the bet, he was confident he couldn't lose now, "seeing as I'm in the lead?"

"Not at all, I like a good challenge." He made the move he'd been stalling on for the past few minutes, opening up a small hole in Erik's plan.

Erik narrowed his eyes…had this man been _playing_ him? Was this his angle all along? He watched his opposition closely, but his face gave nothing away bar the excessive confidence he appeared to have in his abilities.

The man caught his eye, "What if it were given to a man, to change his side?" It was stated casually, as if he'd simply asked him to field a guess at tomorrow's weather.

"Then he would be a lucky man, and rare." Erik replied cautiously, this man was more cunning than he first appeared. His intent, it seemed, was more than simple interest.

"And if you were given such a chance?" the younger man moved a piece.

Intrigued despite himself Erik indulged the man, curious to see the outcome, "to change a past decision?"

"No," the man chuckled, "I'm afraid it is given to no-one to change their past, what if you were given the chance to choose your own future."

"A useless gift," he said bitterly, "there is nothing left for me here. The past is all I take comfort in."

"You cannot live in the past; men waste their lives searching for answers that lie only ahead." He moved a piece that completely destroyed Erik's set-up.

"I suppose you would know, having lived less than two decades." He groused, worried for the first time that he may have underestimated his opponent severely.

"I'm older than I look…and check, I believe."

"Hmph." Erik was stunned; in less than ten moves this man had completely reversed the outcome of the game.

"...And Check mate." The man announced with a cheeky smile, "In about three moves, I think."

"Congratulations," Erik scowled, how had that happened? "You've beaten an old man at chess."

"You know what your problem is?" The man lent forward and chuckled, "You think far too much. Chess is about strategy, yes, but there's so much more to it. Sometimes you just have to go with your instincts, take the leap of faith, and trust yourself to land on your feet."

"You talk like him, you know? Idealistic, naïve, insufferable…he took everything they threw at him, the fear, the hatred, and still he protected them…died, protecting them. You wanted a story? Well here it is…"


	2. Chapter 1

**Sometime in the 1960's**

He felt the strange woman's backhand slam into his chest as her mind curled around his, twisting and squeezing until conscious thought was a monumental effort. The damp cold of the water failed to penetrate the haze that was holding his mind captive, his physical power useless against the invisible force. Then, as suddenly as it had grabbed him, it released. He swam for the surface, emerging to find Shaw's boat under attack from a larger one. He was retreating to his submarine; in seconds he'd lose his only chance to end the life of the man who had destroyed his.

No, he hadn't come this far to be swatted away like a pesky fly. He'd spent _years_ searching for Shaw, followed hundreds of leads, and killed all who stood in his way. He'd sacrificed far too much to fail now. It was his turn now. He turned his attention to the anchor and grasped it with his mind, searching for the familiar pulse of energy he knew to be the source of his power. It shifted and then swung up high over the ship.

_I've got you now_, he thought as he wound the anchor's chain around the ship in a spiral of destruction. He watched the timber crack, the fibreglass shatter, as the metal pummelled through the middle and imagined Shaw's shocked expression as it advanced upon him. But Shaw was no longer on the ship. He dove, ignoring the sting of the salt water, as he searched for the submarine and then attached himself to it. The sinews and veins in his arms pulsed as he funnelled all of his energy into one strong, magnetic pull...but there was no response. It was too big; he was going to lose him.

_Never_.He would get Shaw, or he would die trying.

"_You have to let go..." _an unfamiliar voice assailed his...mind? He couldn't hear or see the origin of the sound; somehow it was coming from within his own head. He ignored it, grunting with the sheer exertion using his power demanded.

"_You have to let it go..." _the voice was back; urgent and forceful. But Erik had no intention of letting go. It would work; he just had to focus on the rage...but all he could feel was anger at himself, anger at failing his mission, his purpose for living. Shaw was getting away, and it was _all _his fault. He was too weak, hadalways _been_ too weak. Too weak to save his mother, and now too weak to avenge her.

"_Calm your mind. I know what this means to you, but you're going to die." _So what? He deserved to die. He felt the arms surrounding him start pulling him away, away from his purpose. Away from his revenge.

"_Please, Erik, calm your mind."_ What? How did the voice know his name? He was losing the submarine; being pulled to the surface. He felt the last tendrils of his power slip from the sub as it disappeared from sight. He had lost. He felt his face break the surface and sucked in air automatically as he fought off the strange person holding him.

"Get off me!" He flailed around in the water, momentarily disoriented.

"Calm down." The man yelled at him, refusing to let go even as Erik fought to free himself.

"Get off!" He finally shoved the man away, panting and struggling to keep afloat, his body drained of its energy. He'd focused it all on stopping Shaw and still he'd failed.

"We're here!" He heard the strange man yell to the remaining ship, waving a hand in the air.

"Who are you?" He demaned, giving in to panic as he looked around for something he could used to defend himself if the man attacked. _He was in my head_, he realised the voice he heard now sounded like the one that had been in his head.

"My name's Charles Xavier, Erik-"

"Are you in my head? How'd you do that?" He interrupted the introduction, his mind flying back to the woman who had incapacitated him so thoroughly without moving a finger.

"You have your tricks, I have mine," the man panted, "I'm like you just _calm_ your mind." He waved again to the people aboard the ship.

"...I thought I was alone." Erik stared at him in wonder, could this be possible?

"You're not alone...Erik, you're not alone." The man – Charles – smiled widely at him as a small dingy sped to their rescue.

"You're after Shaw, then?" he allowed Charles to support him slightly; his failed stunt with the submarine had drained him completely.

"Yes," Charles reassured him, "we came to stop him, as did you I gather."

"I don't mean to stop him," Erik met bright blue eyes narrowed in confusion; "I'm going to kill him."

Further conversation was cut off as the small rescue boat pulled up alongside them, its occupants grabbing them under the arms and hoisting them into it.

"You're a little more hands on than I gave you credit for, Charles." A strange woman addressed the mind-reader.

"Ah yes, well," Charles looked slightly embarrassed, "ah, this is Erik," he patted him on the shoulder, "he's responsible for the little anchor show earlier. Erik, this is agent Moira McTaggert."

"Nice to meet you Erik," the agent – Moira – reached over to shake his hand, "that was quite impressive."

"It was nothing," he shook briefly and then retreated, choosing to look out and over the water as they approached the ship. It _was_ nothing, he had failed.

"Now what?" He heard Charles ask the woman.

"We wait until he submerges again," she sounded frustrated.

"I'm sorry we lost him," Charles touched his temple, "I've never come across anyone like me before, I just couldn't get past her."

"It's not your fault," the agent stood to grab the rope ladder that was thrown down to them, "Shaw's one step ahead of all of us."

Erik climbed the ladder and then stood awkwardly to one side as Charles followed, unsure of his place upon the strange boat.

"Come my friend." Charles placed a hand on his shoulder.

_I have no friends_.

"I'm sorry my fr-Erik," he apologised, but the hand remained, "it's an old habit."

"Stay out of my head," he shook the hand off and surveyed the other cautiously. This man may not work for Shaw, but he was still a stranger – a mind reader – he couldn't afford to trust him.

"Another habit," he smiled guilelessly and Erik was struck with the notion of just how _easy_ it would be to trust this man. He'd best double his guard, then.

"Listen, Erik." Charles continued his original thought, "you're among friends," he smiled reassuringly, "you need not fear anyone here."

"I fear no-one," he growled, tensing.

"Perhaps not," Charles regarded him, "but all the same."

"Come on, you two," Moira stuck her head out the door of the cabin, "there's warm clothes in here if you're done freezing."

"Yes thank you Moira," Charles called without once moving his gaze from Erik's own, "well?"

Erik searched his eyes for any hint of deception, of some darker ulterior motive, but there was none. There was only warmth, and a genuine desire to help.

"Fine." He watched a smile curve onto the other's face before the shorter man turned to head to the cabin, "Charles? Thank you."

"You're most welcome, my friend." He opened the door and slid in. Erik followed, and didn't even bother to correct him. It kind of felt...nice.

After changing into dry clothes he emerged into the main room and spotted Charles chatting quietly with the agent. He hung by the door, unsure whether or not he was welcome, and did his best to look occupied. It seemed he needn't have worried.

"Erik," Charles gestured for him to join the conversation.

"We'll talk further when we reach land," the agent brushed Charles' arm deliberately as she left.

"So, my friend," Charles gazed at him curiously, "what are your plans after this?"

"I'm going to find Shaw, and I'm going to kill him." Erik crossed his arms and silently dared the other to challenge him.

"Marvellous," Erik was shocked, to say the least; he hadn't pegged this man as violent. "So then you know where he's going?"

"No." Erik admitted, looking away. It didn't matter, he'd find him if he had to search the rest of his life.

"I see," Charles seemed to consider this, "then you must know someone who does."

"No." Erik was beginning to see why the man hadn't bothered to challenge him. It was clear he knew much more than he initially let on.

"Oh, well then might I suggest you come with us?"

"Why?" Erik briefly considered the possibility. They might have information he didn't, he could easily find out what it was and then find Shaw on his own. It was as good a place to start as any.

"Honestly? You fascinate me." Charles said earnestly, "I've spent my entire life hoping to meet people like me, and here you are. There's so much more we could learn about this kind of mutation; how it manifested in our genome, _why_ there was a need for it, how it varies from person to person."

"I don't take kindly to being studied." Erik said darkly.

"And what of friendship?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Would you like to?"

"Would it matter if I said no?

"Probably not." He chuckled, that warm smile brightening.

"Then I guess you leave me no choice."


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to those of you reading and alerting / favouriting this story, and a special thanks to the very few of you reviewing. I really appreciate them Also, just in case this proves an issue for anyone I just wanted to let you all know that this will be **slash**_**. **_That was the request when I was asked to write this story. It will be light, but it will be there.

Thought I'd best include a disclaimer in this story since I am using some dialogue from the movie.

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-men, or X-men: First Class, nor do I possess the creative rights to any recognisable dialogue in this story.**

Erik awoke with a start as the car rolled over a pothole, his shoulder bumping into that of the man seated beside him. Charles stirred at the impact and yawned, blinking sleepily as his eyes slowly focused on Erik's own.

"Where are we?"

"I'm not at liberty to disclose that information to you." The large agent driving the vehicle informed them somewhat apologetically, "we're headed for the CIA's secret base and the location is, well, a secret."

Raven, who appeared to have awoken long before himself, laughed as McTaggert turned around from her position in the front passenger seat to raise an eyebrow.

"What's funny?"

"It's just...Charles is a telepath." Raven lent against her pseudo-brother's shoulder, "If he really wanted to know our location he'd just read it from your mind."

Erik hoped he had; the information would certainly prove useful when he'd found out whatever the CIA had on Shaw, and then ditched them. He wondered if the telepath was reading his mind right now, wondered if he kept tabs on everyone's thoughts all the time. It would certainly be useful.

"I hadn't thought of that," the male agent admitted anxiously, "but he won't do that, right?"

"Of course not," Charles grinned reassuringly, "I like to think I'm a telepath with manners."

"When it suits you," Erik muttered, earning an amused glance from the telepath, but there was no real malice in his words. Truth to tell, if it hadn't been for Charles' well timed mental intervention he probably wouldn't be sitting in the car right now. "Why the secrecy?" He asked, louder, "we're on your side, aren't we?" He knew the answer, just wanted to see if they'd admit it, wanted to see Charles' reaction. _Though he should know better than anyone_.

"Well, yes," the agent inclined his head, "but...well, it's just..." he trailed off, looking to McTagget for support.

"That you don't trust us," Erik finished the sentence for him.

"Well no, that's not...I mean, we don't...Moira?" the agent drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel.

"Yes," Moira said simply, "you're right, we don't trust you." She fixed her gaze on his face, "It's not because you're 'mutants', it's because you aren't agents. You haven't been vetted, and you haven't been trained. Charles," she turned to the telepath, somewhat squashed between himself and Raven, "you've got my boss, and his boss, convinced you're a spy. The only way I could get them to agree to let you work with us was to assure them that you'd be kept in the dark on CIA matters. A fruitless task, I know, trying to keep a telepath in the dark, but then they're still in denial over your existence."

"I understand, Moira," Charles raised an eyebrow at Erik, _"Just let this go, my friend, they'll trust us in time._"

"_Stay out of my head_," was his only response.

"_I'm not in your head; I'm just reading your thoughts."_

"_Like there's a difference."_

"_There is, actually-"_

"_Out."_

"We're here," the agent announced, no small amount of relief present in his voice, as he rolled down the window to present the security with his ID. After clearing the security he parked the car near the entrance of the facility and motioned for them all to exit the vehicle. Erik slid out, silently taking in the layout of the area, leaving the door open for Charles to follow. He briefly considered slamming it in his face, but since the telepath was one of the few people he could even consider trusting in this place...he'd better not.

"Welcome, to my facility." The agent led them up the entranceway, "My mission has been to investigate the abdication of paranormal powers in military defence."

"Or offence." Erik pointed out, shrugging when the guy shot him an annoyed look. It was true, whether or not they wanted to acknowledge it.

"This guy Shaw – Or Schmitt, whatever you want to call him – he's working with the Russians. We might need your help to stop him."

"Marvellous," Charles grinned, "so we're to be the CIA's new mutant division, yes?"

Erik scoffed silently. Of course he would love the idea.

"Something like that." The agent kept sending anxious glances his way. Erik was beginning to believe the man was afraid of him, treating him as if he was some kind of ticking bomb.

Charles was also sending him covert glances, as if trying to ascertain his reaction without stooping to using his abilities. Erik had to admire his self-restraint, if he had the power to read minds, well; he doubted he'd be much concerned with privacy issues. He caught the other man's eyes and raised an eyebrow, watching with interest as the telepath flushed ever so slightly and immediately looked away. Erik noted the location of what looked like an office, as the agent led them into another room where a tall boy stood awkwardly scuffing his shoes against the floor. Erik's eyes shifted to a giant model plane hanging from the ceiling, an action the boy noticed and pounced on with relief.

"It's supersonic; the most advanced plane ever built." The boy fiddled with his glasses, "You should see it in real life. It's incredible."

"Hank, these are the special new recruits I was telling you about." The agent turned to the group, "This is Hank McCoy, one of our most talented young researchers." The boy – Hank –looked to the ground nervously, before offering them a shy smile.

"How wonderful;" Charles stepped forward, a huge grin on his face, "another mutant, already here." He turned to the agent quizzically. "Why didn't you say?"

"Say what?"

Erik watched the realization dawn on Charles, "Because you don't know." He winced, turning back to Hank, "I am so, so, terribly sorry."

"Hank?" the agent looked dumbfounded. A look that rather suited him, Erik thought, since it seemed to be his natural state.

"You didn't ask, so I didn't tell." Hank shrugged his face downturned.

"So your mutation is what?" Raven stepped forward, "You're super smart?"

"I'll say," the agent boasted, "Hank here graduated Harvard at the age of fifteen."

"I wish that's all it was." Hank looked up at Raven shyly, his face earnest.

"You're among friends now, Hank." Charles encouraged, "You can show off."

Slowly Hank lent down and removed his shoes, glancing nervously about as he did so. After receiving another encouraging nod from Charles, he peeled off his socks and revealed his mutation. Erik noted, with interest, that his feet resembled those of an ape's. He looked up at Charles' delighted chuckle.

"Splendid."

Now completely at ease, and smiling, Hank motioned for them to step back as he prepared to demonstrate his abilities. He leapt with inhuman speed and height, somehow flipping himself upside down and grabbing onto the wing of the model plane with his feet.

"Ta da," he spread his arms out, as he swung gently through the air.

Raven moved closer, her expression one of mixed fascination and disbelief. "You're amazing." She told the now blushing boy.

"How about I show you where you'll be staying?" The agent interrupted, gesturing for them all to leave, "we should let Hank get back to his work."

"Oh ah yeah," Hank dropped to the ground, landing lithely on his feet and scooped his socks and shoes off the ground. He immediately set to putting them on, as the others filed out of the room. Erik paused by the door briefly and glanced back at the somewhat downcast boy.

"You hide them, even now?" He masked the disgust in his voice, feigning curious indifference.

"Well yeah," Hank looked confused, embarrassed even, "someone might just walk in."

"I fail to see why that would be a problem."

Hank looked at him like he was mad, "it's not normal."

"Normal is a very relative term." He levitated a nearby metal object, "is that normal?"

"No," Hank answered, confused.

"Then should it be hidden away?" Erik moved his eyes around the room, the metal following.

"Well no," Hank's eyes were fixed on the twisting object now gallivanting around the model plane.

"Then why should yours be any different?" Erik released the object as he left, heard it clatter to the ground in the distance. Now he had to figure out where the others had gone.

"_That was kind,"_ he heard Charles' distinctive voice resonate in his mind.

"_What've I told you about staying out of my head?"_

"_I noticed you were gone, thought you might need help."_

"_Figured you'd snoop around a bit first, though."_

"_Perhaps, take a left."_

He sighed but turned left as instructed. He was met with a long corridor of closed doors and shuttered windows. Homey.

"_Walk to the end then turn right, take the stairs."_

"Yes sir," he muttered, finding the stairs and climbing them.

"_Your room's the third on the left_."

Then there was silence. He didn't feel the telepath retreat from his mind, but he knew that he had. It was that feeling of loneliness that had crept back into his mind. He'd never admit this to Charles (although a small part of him recognised that he probably already knew) but the increasingly frequent mental intrusions were not as unwelcome as he'd like to believe. He opened the door to his room and surveyed it indifferently. A bed, a desk, a lamp, a window, it was nothing much. He set the briefcase on the desk and moved over to the window, glancing out. He had a lovely view of a courtyard, charming. Well it didn't matter; he wouldn't be staying the night. He wondered briefly if Charles knew what he was planning. Would he stop him? Could he? Well, he'd deal with that when the time came. He turned from the window and sat down on the bed. Then he reached down to take his shoes off before swinging them up onto the bed and relaxing against the pillows. He had a good few hours before even the first people would retire for the night.

He woke at midnight. Quietly he slipped on his shoes and rose, grabbing the briefcase before heading for the door. He opened it cautiously and observed the hallway until he was convinced it was deserted, and then headed for the staircase. Reaching the lower floor he made his way to the office he'd noticed earlier. He made short work of the lock, manipulating it with his gift, and hurried in spotting the file cabinet immediately. Riffling through the alphabetised files, he found Shaw's name and stowed the folder in his briefcase. He left the room exactly as he'd found it. He had just allowed himself a sigh of relief when he heard a voice call out from behind him.

"With what I know about you, I'm surprised you managed to stay this long."

Charles. He should've known he couldn't leave without the telepath finding out. Still, he'd thought the man might just keep to himself; so much for his manners.

"What do you know about me?" He turned, threw the question out as a challenge.

"Everything." Charles' sincerity contradicted the ridiculousness of his words. Erik was fairly sure this man couldn't know everything about him. Couldn't know his past – his pain – hadn't seen the things he had. How could he presume to know him? Mind-reading power be damned.

"Then you'll know to stay out of my head." He meant it as a warning, but it sounded to him more like a question. Did he truly know everything? Every moment of his past? Had he heard every agonised cry, watched him make every tearful promise to himself? Had he seen every vengeful thought, witnessed the slow hardening of his heart? He thought not. Those were things he alone had experienced, things he alone was cursed to remember.

"I'm sorry Erik but I've seen what Shaw did to you." Charles spoke as if Erik's thoughts were his own and, in that moment, perhaps they were. Despite the darkness Erik could see a single tear role down the telepath's cheek. "I've felt your agony. I can help you."

"I don't need your help." He fought against it with every fibre of his being. He didn't _need_ help and he didn't want it. His promise to kill Shaw – to avenge his mother – was his alone to keep.

"Don't kid yourself; you needed my help last night." Charles stepped forward, "It's not just me you're walking away from. Here you have the chance to be part of something much bigger than yourself." Here he paused, searched Erik's face, "I won't stop you leaving – I could. But I won't." Then he turned around and walked away.

Erik fumed, what _right_ did he have to stop him? He was a free man with no obligation to the CIA, and certainly no obligation to Charles.

"Shaw's got friends, you could do with some." The telepath called out, without turning.

Damn that man. Erik shook his head, not sure whether he was angry or grateful, as Charles walked away seemingly without a care as to whether or not he would stay. But that couldn't be the case, could it? His actions – his words – said otherwise.

"Why do you care?" Erik called out after him, watching as Charles paused by the entrance. Why did this man care about someone he'd just met? Why did _he_ care whether Erik succeeded or whether he died trying?

"The question, my friend, is why don't you?"

What? Why didn't he _what_? What was he supposed to care about? He cared about killing Shaw. He cared about avenging his mother.

"I don't understand." But he was talking to no-one, Charles was gone.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks again for your support guys, I really appreciate it. Some of you are enormously kind with your reviews, and if I haven't responded to them it's because I truly don't know what to say.

*Okay so there's a very good reason why I call this guy 'the fat agent' and it's because I haven't the slightest clue as to what his name actually is. Obviously I couldn't have Charles say "No, I'm sorry fat agent", as I believe it to be somewhat out of character (despite the slightly comical image it evokes)...also IMDb suggests I call him 'man in black suit' which also seems somewhat impersonal, so I've listened to this scene a few times and the best I could come up with was 'Curtis' so Curtis he has become. If you know his name, I would appreciate you letting me know. Otherwise he shall remain Curtis, and his last name can be...Gregory.

...

It was midmorning, and Erik was hiding somewhat conspicuously in the small foyer of the CIA building. He hadn't been back to his room since the confrontation as he hadn't wanted to concede another victory to the telepath, thus he was avoiding Charles and, consequently, every other human being in the building as he was well aware of the man's penchant for snooping through minds. Apparently his 'manners' only extended to mutants, and sporadically even then. Logically he knew that eventually he would be discovered but he had long since decided that it needed to be in a place and setting of his choosing. Somewhere Charles wouldn't be able to be smug and all-knowing, somewhere public.

"Excuse me," he looked up at the familiar voice to see Agent McTaggert addressing another agent, "have you seen Agent Gregory around?"

"He's in a meeting," the agent sounded bored, "has been all morning."

"With who?"

"That mutant guy." Erik tuned out of the conversation, if Charles was in a meeting he probably had time to take his briefcase back to his room. He waited until both agents had disappeared and then snuck out and headed down the corridor.

"Oh and this is the most exciting part," he stopped as another familiar voice floated out of the room just ahead of him. It seemed the door was open. "Hank turned that radio installation into a transmitter, it's designed to amplify brainwaves so it could enhance your telepathic powers. Help you spot other mutants for our division."

No time like the present.

"What if they don't want to be found by you." He leant against the doorframe and then looked casually at Charles to observe his reaction.

"Erik," the telepath sounded cheerful but completely unsurprised, "you decided to stay."

Damn him, he knew. Of course he knew. He should've known that he'd know. The man was a telepath apparently not above sneaking glimpses of people's minds. He'd been in Erik's before, who was to say he wouldn't do it again? How would he even know if he had? He looked at Charles, determined to see exactly what he was certain he knew. It wasn't there. Yes there was a small amount of smugness – pride, in his own abilities maybe – but he could see genuine warmth in the other's eyes, a genuine gladness he wasn't prepared for. It was that same baffling warmth that had thrown him last night, which had caused him to doubt himself even though his instincts were all he had to depend on. "You're not alone," Charles had told him right when they'd first met and now, for the first time, he was beginning to believe that might just be true.

There were others out there, like him, who believed they were alone. Others who thought they were freaks, unnatural, who sought to hide themselves from the world for fear of what people might think – might do. Maybe there were some who'd been exploited, like he had, others whose families had been torn from them because of what they could – or couldn't – do. They deserved to know they weren't alone, that they weren't freaks, that the world's failure to accept them was due not to any fault of their own, but due to humanity's failings. The government, however, had no right to be involved. Not when their involvement threatened the safety of those they were trying to uncover.

Erik looked at Charles, hoping he'd understand the point he was trying to make, "if a new species is being discovered, it should be by its own kind. Charles and I find the mutants, no suits."

"First of all," the fat agent blustered, "that's my machine out there. Second of all and much more importantly, this is Charles' decision. Charles is fine with the CIA being involved, isn't that right?" He looked to Charles pathetically.

"No," Charles looked straight at Erik, and there was a long moment in which he thought the other man might be trying to read his soul rather than his mind, then turned back to the fat agent, "I'm sorry Curtis but I'm with Erik. We'll find them alone."

"What if I say no?"

"Then good luck using your installation without me." Erik had to admire the smooth way Charles delivered the threat without sounding in the least bit threatening.

"Fine," the agent glanced out the machine which looked, to Erik, somewhat like a giant golf ball, "I've asked Hank to meet you there at twelve."

"I believe he's there already," Charles smiled that infuriating omniscient smile, "shall we head down then, Erik?" He didn't wait for a reply, just leapt out of his chair and brushed past Erik as he left the room. "Coming?"

Erik left the fat agent pouting like a small child and fell into step beside Charles.

"You knew," he glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye.

"I suspected," Charles admitted.

"How? Were you in my mind?" Erik failed to contain his disquiet at the thought.

"No," Charles paused and grabbed his arm, bringing them to a halt, "I won't enter your mind without your permission, my friend. Not again." His intense blue eyes bored into Erik's own grey ones.

"Then how did you know?"

"When we first met I saw into your mind," Charles motioned for him to continue walking, "I saw your past – what Shaw did to you – I felt your pain" he paused, "I felt your longing."

Erik said nothing, the conversation was going in an entirely different direction than he had intended.

"Despite all the pain and suffering," Charles continued, "you didn't hope to be free of it – of him – no, you believed you deserved it. Something we'll discuss later, mind. Instead, you hoped for someone like you, experiencing what you were experiencing, someone who knew what you felt. Someone who you believed could justify your existence. My friend, that is something we all hope for."

"I've been alone most of my life, I don't need companionship." Who was Charles Xavier to tell him what he was thinking? Erik's thoughts were his own; they were not a playground for a bored telepath to flounce around in.

"If that were true, you would have left last night." Charles raised an eyebrow, daring him to deny it. Well, he'd hate to disappoint.

"Maybe I simply wanted backup." The moment he said it, he wished he could take it back. Charles would see right through it, no doubt.

"Perhaps," Charles opened the door and gestured for him to go first, "Would you like to know what I think?"

"Not really, no."

"Alright then." Charles shrugged, continued walking as if they'd been chatting idly about the weather.

"That's it?" Erik was surprised to say the least. He hadn't expected the telepath to give up so easily. Hadn't _wanted_ him to, though he was loath to admit it.

"You said you didn't want to know." Charles pointed out, appearing completely uninterested in whether or not the conversation continued. Intellectually Erik knew it was an act, a type of reverse psychology, but he couldn't help himself. He had to know.

"When has that stopped you?" He just wasn't going to admit that to Charles.

"Why does it matter?" Charles feigned complete ignorance, "You're not interested in what I think, are you?"

He wondered what would happen if he gave in to the increasingly alarming urge to punch the man in the face. He'd like to say that he wasn't a man prone to violence, but that simply wasn't true. He _was_ prone to violence, what was disturbing was his current reluctance to succumb to the emotion that had ruled almost all of his adult life. Anger had served him well in the past, why not now?

"You're looking quite violent, my friend. Should I be running?"

"Just tell me." He breathed; another point for Charles. But he had to know.

To Charles' credit, he refrained from calling him out on his sudden change of heart. He seemed to recognise Erik's struggle to say those few words, to admit to needing help.

"I think you've been independent for so long you've forgotten what it's like to actually trust another human being. I think that if you let someone in for just a moment, you may find what it is you're looking for." They stopped outside the golf-ball like structure.

No, he was wrong. Erik had never needed another; he had known from the beginning that he was alone and destined to remain that way. He had caused the death of his mother; he didn't deserve anything but pain. Until he avenged her, he could not rest. He didn't deserve to. What this man was offering, he could not accept.

"And you think you're the man for the job?" He could hear the self-loathing in his voice, despised it.

"Who better than a telepath – ah Hank," Charles gaze shifted from Erik's face to somewhere behind him, "show me this marvellous machine of yours."

Erik watched as Charles climbed the stairs wrapped around the exterior of the golf-ball. He could not accept, but it shocked him how much he wanted to. He felt the longing surface, an ache in his chest so acute it was almost physically painful.

"Erik?" He looked up to see Charles' head poke around the door.

Charles made it so easy, made it _look_ so easy.

He started up the stairs, watched as Charles vanished back into the golf-ball. Walked inside to see them all smiling at each other as if the world and its troubles were miles away, and felt that ache pulse in his chest. For perhaps the first time he allowed himself to wonder what it would feel like to belong here, to fit in with this group of people bound by a single commonality. A commonality _he_ shared.

"I call it Cerebro," he heard Hank say, a note of pride in his voice.

Charles, whom Erik was beginning to see as a strange amalgamation of child-like curiosity and adult commonsense, looked around with pure fascination in his eyes. Erik wished he could feel it, wished for a moment that he had the power to experience others thoughts.

"The Spanish for brain?" Hank, noticeably thrown by Charles' lack of response, hastened to clarify his choice of name.

"Yes." Charles said distantly, still lost in whatever innocent, childish, thought that was occupying his mind.

"Okay so, the electrodes connect Charles to the transmitter and when he picks up, ah, a mutant his brain sends signals through a relay and then the co-ordinates of their location are printed out here.

"You designed this?" Raven was also fascinated, although her focus appeared to be the young scientist rather than the machine.

"Yeah."

Erik watched as Charles strode to the centre and grabbed the strange wired helmet, placing it on his head without hesitation. His mind was dragged back to days of restraints, wires and tubes, and the ever-present beep of a heart monitor.

"What an adorable lab rat you make, Charles." He attempted a joke to distract himself from the pain of memory.

"Don't spoil this for me, Erik."

"Oh I've been a lab rat," he tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, "I know one when I see one."

"Okay, now are you sure we can't shave your head?" Hank asked Charles hopefully.

"Don't touch my hair."

Erik could have laughed, if he were prone to such displays, at the look on Charles' face. Hank started up the machine and Erik watched as Charles' face contorted, as his hands clenched against the handles. But there was no mistaking his expression. Where Erik expected fear, pain, there was only...joy. Just what exactly was he seeing?

"I've got them," Hank announced, delighted, "I've got co-ordinates, Charles this is amazing."

"More than you know," Charles breathed as he removed the helmet, then looked straight at Erik, "there were so many, I can't believe how many there were."

"Now what?" Erik felt a surge of excitement simply from hearing the elation in the other man's voice. Could it be true? Could there really be so many more than a few random individuals?

"We find them," Charles looked around, "we find all of them and we let them know they're not alone."

"And then recruit them." Erik reminded him, not intending to spoil anything but determined to let no pretence lie.

"It won't be like that," Charles of course bypassed the actual comment in favour of what he'd obviously assumed Erik was thinking, "It's a choice, Erik."

"I never had one."

"You do now," Charles stepped closer, "and you made one last night."

"I somehow feel you had something to do with that." It wasn't an accusation, just a comment.

"Do you regret staying?" He looked up, surprised, then resigned himself to conceding yet another point to the telepath. At this rate it would take him an age to even it up.

"Why must you ask questions to which you already know the answer?"

Charles smiled that infuriating, know-it-all, smile and extended a hand to him, "shall we?"

He didn't deserve friendship but maybe he needed it, just for a short while.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Okay, I don't know where all the mutants were recruited from (other than the general area of America) so I've made a lot of this stuff up. I have limited knowledge of America so forgive me if anything geographical seems off. Also there is some slight slash. Sorry this took so long, I've been tearing out my hair over this chapter.

EDIT: Sorry I split this chapter into two because it was taking so long – the slash is in the next one.

...

"So you two are off on your grand adventure," Erik, seated on a bench just outside the foyer of the CIA building, looked up to see Raven standing in front of him. She was disguised as her usual blonde persona which Erik found somewhat perplexing. Here was another mutant who seemed to find it necessary to hide even when those around her knew of her mutation, knew her true form, and supposedly accepted it.

"I wouldn't call it that," he shuffled over so she could sit beside him.

"Hmm," she twisted her legs together and swung them gently, "well I just wanted to warn you."

"Warn me about what?" he looked at her curiously. She was so young and child-like, but her eyes seemed older than her years. He knew little of her history, but had gathered that she had hidden most of her life. He knew she had met Charles when she was a child, and that he had taken her in and treated her like his sister. He could see in her eyes that she had been made to fear and hate what she was, much like he had.

"Charles," she said simply.

"What about him?" Erik prompted, his interest piqued.

"He lives in a different world to the rest of us," she stopped swinging her legs and curled her fingers around the edge of the bench, "and he has a way of dragging people into it without even realising he's doing it," she chuckled wistfully, her gaze distant.

Erik could understand that.

"He sees the best in people," he said quietly, _and ignores the worst_.

"Exactly," she looked down, her face vulnerable, "and it's so easy, you _want_ to believe. But it just makes the reality that much harder to take."

"Raven," he waited until she turned to face him, "you don't have to hide from me."

"Why?" He could see the agony in her eyes, could easily relate to it. He may not have a physical mutation but his pain stemmed from it all the same. He had been singled out because of it, had lost his mother because he couldn't harness it, had been trained and tortured until he'd been honed into a weapon. All those years he'd hated it, had blamed it for everything in his life that had gone so disastrously wrong. He hadn't understood that his power wasn't the problem; he was. He might have been taken by Shaw because of it, but _he_ had failed to save his mother, _he_ had failed to use it. From that moment he'd promised never to fail again. He would avenge his mother and it would be that power that would allow him to do so.

"We are what we are," he said, "we can't change that and we shouldn't want to."

"Easy for you to say," she muttered bitterly, the roots of her hair flaming red.

"No," he looked away, "it is not."

"Erik!" Charles walked out of the foyer, "there you are. Raven," his brow furrowed, "is something the matter?"

"No, I'm fine Charles," Raven stood up, her hair completely blonde, and walked over to him. She hugged him briefly, kissed him on the cheek, waved at Erik and then entered the building. Charles watched her go, an endearingly confused expression on his face.

"I don't know what's gotten into her," he seemed to be talking more to himself.

"She has a lot to deal with," Erik stood up and stretched briefly, "where are we going?"

"Well, the first one lives quite close," Charles still had the expression on his face, "and the CIA's given us a helicopter which I must admit I'm dying to fly in."

"I hope it comes with a pilot," Erik remarked, only half joking.

"Your lack of trust wounds me," Charles cracked a smile, "besides; I was rather hoping you'd just levitate the thing."

Erik stared at him, askance. It was one thing to levitate a large metal object from the ground, let alone while he was in it.

"I'm joking, my friend," Charles said, amused, "Here he comes, now."

"Agent Marcus Baker," the man shook hands with both of them, "come on; let's get you two in the air." He led them to a small helicopter parked just outside the building and ushered them in. Within minutes the blades were whirling and Erik watched as the ground steadily grew smaller.

"How do you want to approach this, Charles?" Erik stared out the window, "we can't just walk up to them and accuse them of being mutated."

"I do posses a modicum of subtlety," Charles seemed...annoyed.

"It's not the first trait that comes to mind when I think of our introduction to Hank." Erik pointed out, turning from the window to observe the other's reaction.

"That's low, Erik."Charles crossed his arms, "it was an accident I don't care to repeat."

"Just pointing out that maybe you shouldn't be casually snooping through people's minds before you've even met them."

"Oh not this _again_," Charles said, exasperated, "you know I won't enter your mind without permission Erik, don't make this about you."

"I'm not. You don't think everyone feels this way? Nobody wants to feel like their secrets are available for your own personal screening."

"If it weren't for me we wouldn't even know they existed."

"Well maybe we shouldn't."

Charles seemed to sense his unease and he anger melted away to be replaced with understanding.

"You've changed your mind."

"I just," he thumped his fist into the window, "can we trust them, the CIA? Can we know, _for certain_, they won't take advantage of us? How do we know they won't do exactly what Shaw did, en masse?"

"I trust Moira," he said simply, "I've seen her mind – and don't start that again – her intentions are honest and simple. She wants to stop Shaw, not become like him. You worry too much, my friend."

"Someone has to." His conversation with Raven floated to the forefront of his mind.

"Sorry boys," the pilot opened the door for them, "this is as close as I can get you."

"Thanks, we'll take it from here." Charles slid out of the helicopter. Erik followed suit, pulling the door closed behind him.

"What now?" Erik looked around; they had landed in a park. He could see a playground in the distance. It was completely devoid of life and the swing was swaying gently in the slight breeze.

"She's close by," Charles touched his temple, "this way." He headed across the park at a fast pace. Erik fell into step with him, matching his speed with little effort. After a few minutes they emerged into a small neighbourhood.

"Well, here goes nothing." Charles trotted up the wooden stairs of the nearest house and paused at the door to look back at him. Erik raised an eyebrow as if to say 'well, what are you waiting for?' as he walked up to stand beside the suddenly nervous telepath. Charles knocked on the door and they exchanged looks as they waited for a response.

"Hello? Who are you?" the door opened abruptly to reveal a tight-faced woman clutching a shawl protectively about her shoulders.

"Brittany Cooper?" Charles enquired politely, stepping back slightly presumably to decrease her obvious discomfort.

"Yes." Her gaze flickered between them, "Who are you and what do you want?"

"My name is Charles Xavier, and this is my friend Erik Lensherr, may we come in for a moment?"

"No," she looked nervously at Erik who attempted a grin to placate her, "say what you want out here." In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have. He'd been told his grin was 'wolfish'.

"It really would be better discussed privately," Charles stressed and Erik was absolutely certain he was trying desperately not to resort to using his power to convince her.

"You want me to let two strange men into my home?" She crossed her arms defensively, her fingers curling around the edge of the door, "I watch the news, you know."

Charles sighed, "I'm a professor doing research on a special kind of genetic mutation resulting in, well to use street vernacular, 'super powers'. I believe that you- ouch," he looked up, surprised, as Erik elbowed him in the side. Tired with Charles attempt at subtlety, he decided to just say it.

"You're a mutant, we're mutants," he gestured to himself and Charles, "would you like to join our group?"

The door slammed in their faces.

"Well that went well," he remarked mildly.

"Would you like to join our group?" Charles repeated, incredulous, "Did I miss the moment you started recruiting for the boy scouts?"

"Well you weren't getting anywhere," he defended, as they stared at the closed door.

"And what was that about _me_ lacking subtlety?" Charles abruptly turned around and marched down the stairs.

"You do." Erik called after him before speeding up to match his pace.

"I was perfectly subtle." Charles groused.

"You told her you thought she had super powers."

"_You_ asked her to join a mutant club!"

"Now Charles, this isn't about me remember? This is about you."

"Oh stop smirking and just get in the helicopter."

Point one for Erik.

...

"Y-you _freaks_ get the hell off my porch!" The man levelled his gun at them, his finger trembling.

Erik sighed; yet another mutant recruitment mission _not_ going particularly well at all. He had nothing against Charles...much, but the man needed to change his campaign slogan. Somehow 'we're all mutants, let's be friends' just wasn't doing it for them. Especially when the man involved didn't believe he was one.

"We mean you no harm," Charles' hand strayed to his temple, the other raised in surrender.

"Then leave." The man's voice shook slightly, his finger straying dangerously close to the trigger. Erik tensed, preparing to stop the bullet if necessary.

"Alright," Charles backed away, hand still hovering around his temple. Erik sighed as the man hurriedly retreated, a resounding slam in his wake.

"I think we almost got through to that one," he couldn't help the sarcasm.

"How was I supposed to know he didn't know he had a mutation?" Charles grumbled as he walked over to a nearby bench and collapsed onto it.

"You're the telepath, you tell me." Erik sat next to him and stretched his arms along the bench.

"Oh so now it's okay for me to read people's minds before I meet them?" Charles turned, brushing his shoulder against Erik's arm, an incredulous expression on his face.

"I didn't say that." Erik smirked.

"You," Charles made weird shapes with his hands, "frustrate me."

Point two for Erik.

"I frustrate many people," his grin darkened as his thoughts drifted to the man he'd frustrated too many times to count.

"You need to stop thinking about him," he looked up to see Charles watching him carefully, "this obsession of yours is dangerous, my friend."

"Not until his soul rots in the depths of hell," Erik said calmly, refusing to let on just how disturbed he was by Charles' ability to read him _without_ even using his gift.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side."

"Oh it's too late for that," Erik dropped his head onto the edge of the bench and looked up at the sky.

"No I don't think so," Charles remarked casually, "just you wait, my friend, I'll grow on you like a fungus."

"Charming," Erik snorted, "you do have a way with words."

"It's one of my better qualities," Charles agreed, a note of laughter in his voice.

"So where to, next?"

"Well the closest mutant is in Downtown, New York," Charles peered at the paperwork Moira had given him, "a girl named Angel Salvadore."

"We need a different approach," Erik reminded him, "one that won't get the nearest shotgun pointed at us."

"I'm not worried," Charles patted his knee, "I trust you could handle it. Besides, I have a good feeling about this one."

Trust? When had he earned this man's trust? He didn't even trust himself, so why should someone else?

"You shouldn't trust me," he said softly, matter-of-factly even, "I've let _everyone_ down."

Charles turned to him, an inscrutable expression on his face, "It isn't a matter of should or shouldn't, it's a matter of do or don't. I do, are you going to prove me wrong, my friend?"

"Yes." Erik looked away. It was what he'd been doing his whole life; _he_ would be the fool to think he could change.

"I don't believe that." Again Erik was struck by how Charles' answer seemed in response not only to his words, but to his thoughts.

"Then you're a fool."

"Ah but what does that make you, my friend?" Charles grinned, "The fool's favourite."


End file.
